


Sometimes When We Touch

by KaliopeShipsIt



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Derek has a trigger, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Hurt Derek, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mpreg, Past Rape/Non-con, Pregnant Derek Hale, Psychological Trauma, Unplanned Pregnancy, Warning: Kate Argent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24040600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaliopeShipsIt/pseuds/KaliopeShipsIt
Summary: Stiles Stilinski can handle a lot of things at once, including being an unemployed recent college graduate and finding himself with a very unexpectedly expecting werewolf boyfriend barely five months into their new relationship.It's a lot, honestly, but Stiles is going to figure it out.He can deal.What he can't deal with, however, is the fact that Derek keeps flinching every time Stiles touches his stomach.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 65
Kudos: 717





	Sometimes When We Touch

**Author's Note:**

> My Lovelies!
> 
> Life is still crazy and uncanny, so here's a little angst to take your mind off things.
> 
> However, before you dive in, please READ THE TAGS CAREFULLY! 
> 
> Also, there is NO graphic description of rape in this fic. 
> 
> However, Derek's sexual past is central to the story, so I decided to use the Archive Warning to be safe.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf. Also, don't post any of my stuff to Goodreads.

It takes them seven years.

“Kind of like a seven-year itch, but the opposite,” Stiles tells Scott a couple of days after his and Derek’s life-affirming first kiss, earning himself an eye-roll and Scott’s best attempt at an epic bitch-face.

Stiles can’t bring himself to care, however, because he’s pretty sure he’s floating on air and the sky is full of violins.

Well.

Maybe it’s not _quite_ as dramatic, since Derek isn’t exactly the type the type for theatrical displays and cheesy romance, but Stiles is still convinced that he’s never been this in love before.

In hindsight, it has been a long time coming, of course.

He’s loved him for years, truth be told, though it hasn’t been quite that long since he started realizing he might actually have a chance with him.

They’d been building up to it for months, their phone conversations getting longer and more frequent during Stiles’ last fall semester in college.

However, even though Derek had been texting him goodnight and good morning every day for the past four months, it had still been a bit of a surprise when he’d gone to see him after coming home for Christmas break and Derek had ripped open the door to the loft before Stiles could even knock, wrapped his arms around him and just … relaxed like he’d been tense for months.

Even a month after the fact, Stiles still gets butterflies in his stomach when he remembers how Derek had pressed his nose into the crook of Stiles’ neck and just breathed in, how he’d felt the faintest hint of claw against the small of his back, and how their chests had been pressed together so tightly that Stiles had literally felt Derek’s heart speeding up.

They’d stayed like that for a while, holding and supporting each other as they’d worked towards gathering the courage to finally take the plunge into the unknown.

When Derek had eventually pulled back with a hitched little breath, his eyes had been nervous and hopeful and _happy,_ and Stiles had just – gone for it.

The four weeks since have been a whirlwind of laughter, teasing, kissing, and sex.

Lots and lots of sex.

More sex than Stiles ever thought possible, but then again, _years_ of unresolved sexual tension aren’t just worked through in a day. 

It’s great.

It’s better than great.

It’s amazing and perfect and Stiles is pretty sure he’s happier than he’s ever been.

When Stiles goes back for his last semester of college at the end of January, various parts of his body are covered in hickeys and beard-burn and Derek looks decidedly pleased about it, kissing him hard and deep before they can bear to part from one another.

Within hours, Stiles finds himself experiencing a severe case of Derek withdrawal and figures he should probably feel a little ridiculous about it.

However, Derek sounds just as bereft when he gets a hold of him after landing in NYC, so Stiles decides he isn’t actually all that ridiculous for pining like he’s training for an Olympic medal in the world’s most pathetic discipline.

The next two months simultaneously fly by and drag on for an eternity.

With graduation and the nightmare of entering an uncertain job market looming on the very near horizon, Stiles has his plate full with classes and assignments and applications and there literally aren’t enough hours in the day to take care of everything he needs to do.

When he talks to Derek, however, it feels like May can’t come soon enough, his yearning for his boyfriend growing stronger the longer they are apart.

They text multiple times a day and they talk on Skype until the early morning hours.

Every time he makes Derek laugh, Stiles’ belly feels warm and happy.

Every time he makes Derek smile, Stiles’ heart threatens to burst out of his chest because this?

This is more than he ever dreamt of.

This is everything.

Of course, they briefly entertain the idea of Derek coming to the city for spring break, but even though he’s smiling, Stiles can feel that Derek’s dreading the idea of coming back to a city that holds so many bittersweet memories for him. 

He makes up a couple of extra assignments to reassure Derek that he wouldn’t have time anyways, but of course Karma decides to punish him for being an understanding boyfriend and sends a sadistic professor his way who does, indeed, assign them an extra paper on the last day of classes before the break.

As a result, Stiles spends a week trapped in a limbo of research, writing, and formatting, and it’s the first time in their new relationship that he goes longer than a day without talking to Derek on the phone, though he definitely makes sure to send him goodnight and good morning texts every day.

The first time they video chat after Stiles’ week of hell, Derek looks about as exhausted as Stiles feels.

However, he brushes off Stiles’ concerns with a fond smile, tells him it’s just been an exceptionally busy week at the old house.

Stiles smiles back, his stomach swooping when he thinks about how Derek’s been doing some off and on remodeling on the old Hale house for a couple of years now but seems to have stepped up his efforts after they got together.

It’s not like he’s reading too much into it or anything.

After all, they haven’t even said “I love you”, though Stiles feels it pretty much goes without saying after all these years.

And yet, he can’t help but wonder if Derek’s been so invested into the old house lately because he’s thinking about … well … building a _home_.

A home for Stiles and Derek, that is.

Again, he’s trying not to read too much into it.

They’ve just been together for a little over three months.

It’s probably _way_ too soon to think about moving in together and planting tomatoes and doing whatever else responsible adult homeowners do who also kiss each other goodnight and fuck each other’s brains out on the regular.

Then again, Stiles has never been known for having chill about anything, so the fact that this whole thing with Derek went from zero to a hundred within like a week is pretty much par for the course for him.

Besides, it’s not like Derek hasn’t been on the same page as him every step of the way so far, so Stiles definitely doesn’t have anything to worry about and his father’s gentle questioning about whether this whole thing is going a bit too fast is really just because he’s his dad and it’s a dad’s job to worry.

Also, Stiles has a couple of important finals coming up in only six short weeks, so he figures his time is much better spent worrying about his classes than worrying about nothing.

Things with Derek are perfect and amazing and if there’s anything to worry about at all, it’s that Derek keeps sounding a little tired during their phone calls because he’s putting so much work into the house.

One night, Derek looks unusually pale on Skype, making Stiles frown in concern because he almost look a little sick. 

When Stiles points it out, Derek explains it’s just bad lighting and Stiles accepts that explanation easily because he’s dating a big, strong werewolf and it’s not like he can get sick or anything.

Three weeks later, Stiles does start worrying though.

Swept up in a study frenzy because of his upcoming finals, it takes Stiles almost three days to notice that Derek’s texts have suddenly become … sparse.

When he calls him, his voice sounds a little … weird.

When he manages to get Derek on Skype, his boyfriend seems strangely distracted, zoning in and out of their conversations like he’s a million miles away.

“I’m fine,” he smiles when Stiles brings it up and that smile sends all of Stiles’ alarm bells tingling.

It’s his _I’ve just been poisoned, paralyzed, and impaled, but I’m sure things are going to be just **fine** _smile and Stiles is convinced that Derek isn’t fine at all.

Not even a little bit.

He’s pretty sure that Derek can tell he’s worried, too, because the werewolf’s texts become even less frequent afterwards.

He’s hiding something.

Not just from Stiles, apparently, because when he calls Scott to ask him if anything unusual has been happening, lately, Scott realizes with a start that he hasn’t seen his Beta in almost two weeks.

Stiles isn’t proud when he tells Scott to go investigate, a tab for flights already open on his laptop and a sinking feeling in his gut that something big has happened.

The next day, Scott reports that Derek’s looking a little tired but that everything seems perfectly fine, telling him to stop worrying about Derek and start worrying about his finals instead.

Stiles still spends the next couple of nights tossing and turning regardless, wanting to believe Scott but unable to shake the sinking feeling in his gut.

Meanwhile, Derek doesn’t stop talking to him or anything, but the weirdness doesn’t quite go away, and Derek gets especially cagey every time Stiles hints at making plans for the summer.

“I’m fine.”

“I’m fine.”

“Everything’s fine.”

Except, things are very obviously _not_ fine, and Derek obviously doesn’t want to talk to him about it.

 _Maybe we **did** go too fast, _Stiles thinks late at night, trying to remember if he’s said or done anything that might have spooked Derek.

 _Maybe he’s realized he doesn’t miss me all that much after all_ , Stiles thinks as he chugs down his seventh coffee while studying for his first final, only to have to sit down in his cubicle in the library to breathe through a caffeine fueled panic attack.

 _Maybe he doesn’t trust me after all_ , Stiles thinks during his last final, his pen cluttering onto his desk as he rushes out of the exam room the moment he’s done.

He’s already shipped most of his stuff to Beacon Hills in the past couple of weeks, so it doesn’t take him long to pack up and leave NYC, his heart hammering in his chest as he checks in for his flight.

He’s going to miss his graduation ceremony, obviously, but his father barely has any vacation days as it is and he’s not going to ask all of his friends to spend hundreds of dollars on plane tickets and hotels just so they can watch him walk across a stage to get a diploma he can just as well receive through the mail.

It’s maybe a little sad, sure, but it’s not the end of the world and Stiles has far more pressing things to worry about right now.

For instance, the text message Derek sends him just before they take off.

_Have a safe flight._

Just that.

Just a safe flight.

No “I can’t wait till you’re here,” no “I’m glad you’re coming home,” no “I’m waiting for you”.

Have a safe flight.

It’s a text between business partners, polite but impersonal, and Stiles obsesses over that text so much that his legs jitter all the way to California.

His father picks him up at the airport and the fact that Derek didn’t even offer or put up a token protest when Stiles mentioned his dad wanted to pick him up is pretty much the final red flag, telling Stiles that somehow, at some point, something has gone really fucking wrong between them.

He makes his dad drive him straight to Derek’s loft the moment they get back to Beacon Hills, ignoring his father’s worried glances and telling him he won’t be home for dinner as he stumbles out of the car in the parking lot.

He feels a little bad about it, of course, but as he rushes up the stairs, he’s far more worried about _Derek’s_ feelings, half-expecting him to be in the midst of a life-and-death situations when he fumbles the key into the lock and yanks open the door.

At first glance, everything is, indeed, fine.

Derek’s sitting on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket and watching television.

He turns when Stiles barges in, a smile on his face that looks about as fake as Stiles has ever seen it. 

“Hey,” Derek says softly, getting up with the blanket still firmly wrapped around him.

“Derek!” Stiles gets out, rushing over to him and wrapping him up in a tight hug.

At first, Derek doesn’t move at all, but then he wraps his arms around Stiles’ shoulders and squeezes so hard it’s almost a little difficult to breathe.

“I _missed_ you!” Stiles exclaims and Derek gasps quietly, pressing his forehead against Stiles’ and closing his eyes.

He doesn’t say anything for a long time, just holds on to Stiles in a way that reminds him of the night they got together.

For a moment, Stiles feels like Derek’s using him to physically anchor himself, just like he did when he was gathering the courage for their first kiss.

He’s shaking.

Stiles’ stomach feels cold when he notices, because whatever Derek is working himself towards this time is obviously terrifying the crap out of him.

“Derek? What’s wrong?”

Derek lets out a shuddery breath but he doesn’t say anything, and Stiles takes a step back, needing to see Derek’s face.

The blanket falls down when he does, having loosened during their embrace.

At first, it doesn’t even register to Stiles.

Then, Derek inhales sharply and suddenly his arms are no longer wrapped around Stiles’ back but around his own middle, as if he’s trying to shield it.

Stiles blinks, taking in the familiar sight of Derek’s muscular body, his chest and abs highlighted by his white tank top and his grey sweatpants loosely slung around his hips.

Except.

Except the sight is actually not really familiar at all, because Derek’s pants are no longer loose and his tank-top is no longer stretched over flat abs but over a small but definitely noticeable bulge.

Derek sighs.

Then, he says the words that will upend Stiles’ world forever.

“I’m pregnant.”

“… _huh_?”

===============

“I’m pregnant.”

“I don’t know how this happened.”

“I didn’t even know it was possible.”

“Deaton doesn’t know either.”

“He’s asked around and nobody knows anything.”

“I found out a couple of weeks ago.”

“Deaton thinks I’m about sixteen weeks along.”

“It’s yours.”

“It must have happened the night before you flew back to NYC.”

“Deaton thinks it’s due around October 8th.”

“The pack doesn’t know yet.”

“I didn’t want them to know before I told you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stiles, I’m so sorry this happened.”

To say Stiles is shocked is possibly the understatement of the century.

Scratch that, the _millennium_ , at least, his brain desperately trying to reboot as the words spill out of Derek.

He can’t really focus on his shock, however, because even though Derek is saying a lot of incredibly shocking things, his tone is also incredibly flat.

Just … flat.

Stiles knows that tone well.

It’s the tone he uses when he’s terrified but doesn’t want to show it.

It’s the tone he uses when he’s hurting beyond what any person should have to endure.

It’s the tone he uses when he knows he’s been defeated.

It’s the tone he uses with someone who’s about to hurt him.

Stiles can’t stand having that tone directed at him.

Especially not over their … baby?

Cub?

Freak accident of nature?

Child.

Derek is carrying Stiles’ _child_.

If he was a character in a Jane Austen novel, Stiles would probably be on the floor by now.

He can’t though, because he absolutely _has to_ make that tone go away before he can even so much as think about passing out.

That horrible, fucking terribly flat tone.

That tone is all the confirmation Stiles needs that everything Derek is saying is true, that he truly is pregnant with their baby and obviously scared out of his fucking mind, because …

Because he’s expecting Stiles to bail?

Because he’s expecting Stiles to blame him?

Because he’s expecting Stiles to _hate_ him?

Ha.

No fucking chance!

Sure, Stiles is possibly light-years away from coming to terms with this newest mind-fuck that Beacon Hills has chosen to bestow upon his sanity, but if there’s one thing he knows right now it’s that he’s in this with Derek one million percent.

Whatever _this_ means for them in the long run.

Fuck.

They truly have been moving _way_ too fast.

Stiles isn’t going to think about that right now though.

All he can think about is that he needs to make that hurt disappear from Derek’s eyes.

That fear that has him going more and more rigid with each passing second.

That horrible tone.

That horrible, terrible, gut-wrenchingly flat tone.

Stiles needs to make that horrible tone go away.

Right now.

“I love you.”

It’s entirely possible that Stiles has the worst timing in history, but he also has a penis that can knock up a dude, apparently, so what the fuck ever.

Besides, it’s not like it isn’t true.

They both know it is.

Derek lets out another shuddery sigh, his eyes looking wounded and scared and desperately in love and Stiles kisses him, needing to feel something familiar before his mind starts floating away on a cloud of insanity completely.

Derek kisses back like he’s been starving for it, clutching Stiles’ face with shaking hands.

It’s all the confirmation that Stiles needs to know that Derek has, indeed, been worrying that he’s going to flip and leave him, because he’s clearly not only the love of Stiles’ life but also an infuriating dumb-dumb.

They cling to each other, Derek’s hard little belly pressing against Stiles’ middle in a way that scares the crap out of Stiles and also makes his heart do a bunch of things he can’t quite parse out yet.

Stiles’ hands drop down to cradle it automatically, partly because he wants to reassure Derek and partly because he needs to reassure _himself_ that he’s not actually dreaming.

Derek flinches.

Stiles barely notices.

==================

On a scale of one to ten, Stiles has about a million questions.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“How did you find out?”

“Is this going to be dangerous?”

“Do you … want this?”

Stiles’ voice cracks on the last question, his chest hurting at the soft, vulnerable noise that wrenches itself out of Derek’s throat.

“I’m fine now.”

“I wasn’t … it took me a while to realize that something was wrong, I didn’t …”

“When I started feeling tired all the time in February, I thought it was because I’d spent so much time at the house and I …”

“I didn’t really feel nauseous or anything like that, I just … but then my stomach started feeling tight all the time and my chest was driving me crazy and I …”

“I thought I was just tired. It wasn’t until I started hearing the heartbeat that I … I still didn’t think I … I don’t know what I thought. These past couple of weeks have been …”

“I just thought I was _tired_.”

“Deaton says my body wouldn’t be able to do this if there wasn’t a safe way for me to … but he doesn’t know for sure.”

“He doesn’t think it’s dangerous though. It doesn’t _feel_ dangerous, I don’t know how to explain it, it just …”

“My body seems like it knows what it’s doing. Which is good, because _I_ sure as hell don’t know anything right now!”

Derek’s voice gets a little louder at that and even though he’s agitated, it’s kind of a relief for Stiles to hear him express an actual emotion, far preferring frustration over apathy.

Then, Derek’s voice cracks, too, his hands cradling his small belly as he looks at Stiles with wet eyes.

“I want this. It terrifies the crap out of me, but I want this.”

He’s stroking his belly absentmindedly, effectively axing any doubt Stiles might have had on the issue.

Derek sighs again, looking at him with an achingly vulnerable expression.

“I want you, too. I want both of you! But if you don’t want this, I’m not going to be mad at you if you walk away. You didn’t know it was even possible and it would be unfair of me to make you stay when you didn’t even have a chance to at least try and prevent it from happ….”

“Stop!”

Derek shuts up instantly, his eyes wide and scared, but also determined.

Stiles kisses him again, mostly because he loves him but also because it seems kind of insane to him that Derek doesn’t understand that he’s never going to walk away from him ever again.

“I love you. I’ve spent the past month freaking out that you were going to break up with me because this has been going too fast, so I sure as hell won’t break up with you now! Or ever, honestly, and it’s _not_ just because of the baby, I can guarantee you that much, at least!”

“I love you, too,” Derek says softly, the barest hint of a smile on his that still looks a million times more genuine than the grimace he greeted Stiles with earlier.

Stiles draws him in for another kiss, his hands once again slipping between them to gently caress Derek’s belly.

Derek flinches.

This time, Stiles notices.

Derek’s lips are warm against his own, but the pit of Stiles’ stomach suddenly feels inexplicably cold.

===============

They talk until the early morning hours and by the time the sun rises, Stiles knows that he’s one hundred percent committed to Derek and their little baby.

When he watches Derek absentmindedly trail his fingers over his belly, Stiles knows they were never _not_ keeping the baby.

It should scare him, probably.

Actually he should be terrified right now, because he’s just turned twenty-three, he’s fresh out of college, his savings were sacrificed to the altar of tuition, he has no job prospects, and his boyfriend of five months is four months pregnant, since Derek’s life is literally one big werewolf tragedy and Stiles’ penis is obviously a wizard with a fucked up sense of humor.

However, he also hasn’t slept in over twenty-four hours and he’s way too exhausted to gather the energy for a freak-out befitting a biologically impossible and entirely unexpected werewolf lovechild, so he decides to make coffee instead.

The coffee has almost run through by the time he remembers that caffeine is bad for the baby, so he decides to walk over to the 7-Eleven to get some decaf and clear his head.

He forgets his shoes.

The high school-aged cashier raises a judgmental eyebrow at him, but Stiles doesn’t give a flying fuck, pretty sure that the pimply guy in front of him has never gotten anyone pregnant and only has his _Animal Crossing_ game to worry about.

 _Kids these days_ , Stiles thinks grimly, because he gets to say stuff like that now.

He’s going to be a father.

He’s going to be a _daddy_.

Derek is carrying _their baby_.

The world could literally be ending right now, but Stiles is pretty sure he’d only care about the fact that Derek is pregnant with their baby.

It’s quite possible he’s going a little insane.

Or maybe he just needs to sleep.

Then again, Derek is carrying their _baby_ and Stiles has no idea how he’s ever supposed to sleep again.

When he gets home, he makes a pot of decaf.

He falls asleep on the couch before the coffee has run halfway through.

================

They take a week to figure things out, until Stiles no longer feels like his brain is leaking out of his ears and Derek no longer looks like he’s being walked to the gallows every time Stiles let out an involuntary sigh.

Then, they tell the Sheriff, and Stiles’ insides feel raw when John’s voice cracks as he whispers, “I’m going to be a _grandpa_?”

Derek grabs his hand and they answer the Sheriff’s questions together, even though Stiles can tell that there’s one question his father deliberately isn’t asking.

He doesn’t need to, though.

Stiles can see his worry clear as day.

 _Are you sure that you’re ready for this_?

Probably not, in all honesty, but it’s not like that’s going to change the outcome at this point.

He steals a glance at Derek’s belly, all but hidden under the hoodie he’s wearing despite the warmer weather.

He’s been wearing hoodies since Stiles came home seven days ago, now that he thinks about it, and the fact that he hasn’t actually seen Derek’s belly since that first night is almost enough to give him the illusion that the whole thing isn’t actually happening.

Derek turns to look at him, his eyes following Stiles’ gaze to the tiny little swell that’s barely noticeable under the bulky fabric.

He flinches.

Covers his belly with both palms.

Protecting it.

 _Hiding_ it.

Stiles isn’t quite sure why he thinks of it that way.

All he knows is that the cold feeling in his stomach is back and he still doesn’t understand why it’s there in the first place.

==============

They tell the pack.

There’s a lot of shouting and confusion.

Then, there’s a lot of staring.

At Derek’s hoodie-covered belly, mostly, but also at Stiles’ crotch, which is really fucking inappropriate but which he also kind of gets, because he’s clearly got the dark lord living in his pants.

“I don’t know about that. Voldemort wouldn’t have had a baby with a werewolf, I’m sure,” Scott muses thoughtfully, frowning when his entire pack glares at him.

“Dude. _So_ not the point right now! Also, stop staring at my dick!” Stiles snaps, still feeling quite miffed at his best friend for not figuring out that one of his Betas was angsting over his shocking man-pregnancy in the first place. 

Scott McCall, Alpha of the year.

“You’re going to make me the godfather though, right? Wait, is he going to be a baby or is he going to have a tail and fur? Ah well, doesn’t matter, I’ll buy him a little wolf onesie either way and he’s going to be stinking cute!”

Stiles sighs.

Scott McCall, godfather of the year.

Beside him, Derek shakes his head, looking like he’s questioning all of his life choices.

Well.

Except for one, Stiles thinks, because he doesn’t miss the soft little smile on Derek’s face when he runs a hand over his belly while the pack is busy looking up wolf themed onesies on Etsy.

Without thinking, he wraps his arm around Derek’s waist, his palm gently cupping the little swell.

Derek flinches.

This time, Stiles flinches, too, already pulling his hand away when Derek’s palm covers his and presses down, gently moving it across his stomach in a little circle.

Stiles looks at him with a frown, but Derek is looking at the pack, rolling his eyes when Erica waves her phone and shows him a onesie with a little tail attached to it.

Derek’s belly feels warm under his hands.

Stiles’ belly feels cold again though, and this time Stiles is beginning to understand why.

============

“Are you … do you want me to stop touching your belly?”

They’re lying in bed, with Stiles on his back and Derek on his side, one leg thrown over Stiles’ and his middle molded into the dip of Stiles’ waist.

Stiles has his arms wrapped around Derek’s shoulder, very deliberately touching him as far away from his stomach as he can.

“What?”

Derek’s voice is muffled against Stiles’ chest and Stiles shrugs, tipping Derek’s chin up with one finger so he’ll look at him.

“Well, I mean … it’s just that … you know … everyone knows that some pregnant women don’t feel comfortable with other people touching their belly and you’ve been kind of … self-conscious about it? I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, it’s probably weirding you out enough as it is and I …”

“You’re not _other people_ ,” Derek says softly, pressing a quick kiss to Stiles’ chin before he snuggles back against his chest.

“But I _am_ making you uncomfortable, aren’t I?” Stiles insists and Derek sighs, reaching up to grab one of Stiles’ hands and pressing it against his stomach.

“You’re not making me uncomfortable and I’m not self-conscious about it either, Stiles.”

“But you’ve been hiding it ever since I got here. Do you want me to tell the others not to stare so much the next time we have a pack meeting?

“I’m not …”

Derek sighs again, once more covering Stiles’ palm with his own.

“I’m not trying to hide it. I’m happy about it, Stiles. It’s crazy and terrifying but every time I think I might be freaking out I listen to her heartbeat and it just makes me … I’m happy. Really happy. It’s just … I hid it from everyone before and maybe I just need to get used to everybody being aware of it now.”

Stiles frowns, mulling that explanation over for a while.

Then, he taps Derek’s shoulder, frowning at him when the werewolf looks up a little impatiently.

“You’re going to tell me if that changes though, aren’t you? I don’t want you to ever feel uncomfortable. Your body is going to change so much in the next couple of months and I can’t help you with any of it, really, so the least I can do is try not to make you more uncomfortable than you already are.”

“I promise,” Derek says, lifting up their joint hands to press a kiss to Stiles’ knuckles.

Stiles smiles and kisses the top of his head, the cold feeling in his belly finally gone for good.

===============

Derek stops wearing his hoodies.

It’s a good thing, too, because the temperatures are steadily rising as May turns into June and frankly, if Stiles wasn’t already spoken for, he might feel tempted to declare his love to their AC instead.

The weeks fly by and Derek’s little belly starts growing in earnest, looking round and full and definitely pregnant by the time he’s reached the halfway point in mid-June.

Some days, Stiles’ heart still clenches in fear when he catches sight of him, his ever-growing middle a firm reminder that Stiles is a twenty-three-year-old college graduate without a job or the means to provide for their little family.

Derek shakes his head every time he brings it up, a sad smile on his face when he reminds Stiles that he’s got the life-insurance money from his family and his parents would be happy to know it’s being used to buy a crib and stroller for their first grandchild.

Stiles gets that, of course, but he still wants to set a good example for his child and so he keeps sending out job applications and starts working at the local bakery three days a week.

It means that he has to get up at ungodly hours, but he also gets to bring home goodies to his pregnant werewolf boyfriend, so Stiles figures it’s a fair trade.

When he figures out that Derek’s been craving peaches and raspberries, Stiles talks the baker into adding little fruit tarts to the menu, grinning in anticipation the first time he brings them home.

Derek looks like he’s in heaven one bite in, sitting on the couch with a blissful smile and humming to himself as he chews, his hand running over his belly in soothing motions.

“The sugar is getting her riled up, I think,” Derek explains when he catches Stiles looking and Stiles grins like a loon, because the baby’s kicks might not be strong enough to feel from the outside just yet, but knowing that it’s kicking is making him ridiculously happy regardless.

“Carefully, little one, if you annoy your Papa too much he’s going to turn into a growly wolf,” Stiles says to Derek’s belly, leaning down to press a soft kiss against the swell.

Derek flinches.

Stiles looks up at him quickly, an apology already on his lips, but Derek just smiles like nothing happened, tells him that the baby has been dancing on his bladder for weeks and that a little kicking isn’t nearly as annoying as having to run to the bathroom every couple of minutes.

He chuckles, motioning for Stiles to get up and kiss him.

He doesn’t finish his tarts though.

When Stiles throws them in the trash later that night, the cold feeling in his stomach is back.

=================

Stiles kisses Derek’s belly one more time.

He’s sitting on their bed with a book propped on top of his bump, his shirt riding up and exposing the lower half of his stomach.

It’s cute and domestic and Stiles simply can’t resist, getting down onto the bed on his knees and bending over to nuzzle against Derek’s exposed skin.

Derek flinches and drops the book.

“Sorry,” Stiles says quickly, and Derek shakes his head immediately, flashing him his most charming smile and chuckling ruefully.

“No, no, it’s fine, it just tickled. I wasn’t expecting it.”

“Okay. Do you want me to bring you some more blueberry juice?” Stiles asks, already getting up before Derek nods.

Stiles doesn’t kiss Derek’s stomach again.

That night, it takes him a long time to go sleep.

===================

Stiles doesn’t want to make a _thing_ out of it.

There’s no need to make it a thing at all, actually.

They’re happy.

They’re in love.

The baby is healthy and growing and Derek’s clearly so in love with their little one that it makes Stiles’ heart ache in all the good ways.

It _is_ kind of a thing though, because it keeps happening.

Derek flinches when Stiles touches his belly.

It’s always fleeting, and Stiles probably wouldn’t even notice if he wasn’t looking for it, but when he asks, Derek always shrugs it off.

“I’m just not used to my belly being this sensitive.”

“I’m ticklish.”

“The baby’s been kicking and it’s feeling a little sore.”

“Nothing’s wrong, why do you ask?”

Derek looks at Stiles like _he’s_ the one with the problem, grabbing Stiles’ hand and pressing it firmly against his six-months pregnant belly, just above where their baby is happily kicking along, the kicks now strong enough to feel and see from the outside.

Stiles smiles and doesn’t snap at him, even though he’s starting to get a little irritated by all the mixed signals that Derek is sending him.

“She always calms down when you stroke my belly.”

“She’s kicking, come feel!”

“Do you want to give me a little belly massage? I read that it’s good for the baby.”

Derek’s words tell him that he _wants_ Stiles to touch his belly.

Derek’s smile says that he loves it when Stiles is touching his belly.

Some days, Stiles wonders why he’s even doubting Derek’s words and smiles, because there’s really no sane reason why he should be doing so in the first place.

They’re still incredibly compatible with each other, their familiarity a testament to genuine emotion and the fact that they’ve gone through and hell and back together in the past seven years.

They still bicker over silly things, they still sass each other to their hearts’ delight, but now they also kiss and cuddle, their bodies coming together like two halves finally making a whole.

They work, just like Stiles always hoped and secretly knew they would.

Sure, he misses the sex a little, but Stiles figures he can’t really blame Derek for not feeling up to anything more adventurous than a blowjob or hand job here and there.

As a born werewolf, Derek might be used to his body changing size and shape all the time, but this is definitely something different.

Seriously, Stiles wants to scoff at his younger self sometimes, wondering how he could ever think that watching Derek go from human to full wolf within seconds was the most impressive thing his body could do.

Nope.

No matter how soft and shiny Derek’s wolf-fur might be, there is nothing more wondrous and terrifying than watching Derek’s belly grow to accommodate their little unexpected miracle.

So yeah, Stiles is okay with Derek not really feeling up to the sex stuff for now.

Of course, he should probably think about never having sex again, period, given that he’s still halfway sure his mysteriously elusive ‘spark’ is actually an unpredictable little shit who’s living in his pants.

Unfortunately, Derek is also unfairly gorgeous and getting more gorgeous by the day, so Stiles is possibly regretting the whole unofficial sex embargo a bit more than he’s allowing himself to think about.

Derek’s hair is thick and luscious, and his cheeks are rosy and glowing, a little rounder than usual and so delicious looking that Stiles kind of wants to bite them whenever Derek smiles.

“Can you stop talking about Derek’s butt? _Please_!” Scott begs one afternoon, hitting Stiles with a pillow and flashing his Alpha eyes at him in a thoroughly failed attempt at intimidation.

Stiles scoffs, but he does shut up, because Scott is one hundred percent right and Stiles is definitely using Derek’s rosy cheeks as a metaphor to get away with marveling over his butt.

He doesn’t want to bite his boyfriend’s face, obviously.

His buttocks, though …

Dear god.

Stiles is okay though.

He’s dealing with it.

Also, Stiles really doesn’t need sex when Derek kisses him so softly and sweetly each night, his hands carding through Stiles’ hair and his ever-growing bump pressed against Stiles’ side.

Derek is amazing at cuddling, honestly, and Stiles loves cuddles almost as much as he loves Derek, so he figures he can deal with his blue balls for a couple more months.

Besides, the last time Derek let Stiles’ penis anywhere near him, he somehow figured out a way to get him man-pregnant, so really, Stiles is going to be lucky if Derek _ever_ lets him touch him again.

So yeah.

Things are good.

Except …

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks worriedly, stopping his absentminded stroking of Derek’s belly when the werewolf tenses in his hold as Stiles spoons him one night.

“I’m fine,” Derek assures him, grasping Stiles’ hand and rubbing it across the bump in soothing motions.

“Shit, I think I forgot my phone in the fridge again! Do you need a refill?” Derek exclaims just as they’ve settled in for a movie night, jumping up from his spot between Stiles’ legs and heading towards the kitchen.

“I’m good,” Stiles calls after him, trying not think about the way Derek sucked in his breath when Stiles ran a finger over his pushed-out bellybutton just a few moments earlier.

“The baby’s got hiccups,” Derek explains with a rueful smile, looking at the pudding he just dropped on the floor when Stiles rubbed his belly in passing and his entire body jerked.

“I’m fine.”

_Flinch._

“I’m fine.”

_Flinch._

“Everything’s fine.”

_Flinch._

“Stiles! For the last time! I’m _fine_!”

For a couple of weeks, Stiles more or less succeeds in telling himself that the fact that his pregnant boyfriend keeps flinching when he touches his belly is seriously fucking _fine_.

He wants to believe him, is the thing.

Derek can be rude and abrasive, but he’s always honest with the members of his pack, having learned really young in life that keeping secrets from one’s family can come with a gut-wrenching price-tag.

Stiles doesn’t want to believe that Derek is lying to him.

However, as June turns to July, Stiles can no longer deny the truth that’s right in front of him.

Derek’s words tell him everything is fine.

His body tells him that’s a lie.

Derek’s smile is soft and happy.

His eyes are anything but.

==============

Throughout the month of July, the Betas are working overtime to get the house ready for Derek and Stiles to move in before the baby is born in October.

Derek is banned from helping after he accidentally tips over a bucket of bright pink paint with his bump and so he spends his days sitting in the shade of the woods, sipping lemonade, eating cupcakes, and planning the nursery.

“It’s a werewolf thing. When Talia was pregnant with him, she would have the most terrifying meltdowns if anyone so much as moved a stuffed animal in the nursery. Nesting is a powerful instinct,” Peter explains to Stiles one afternoon, a wistful smile on his face as he watches Derek critically examine fabric patches that Lydia brought over for the nursery curtains.

He’s twenty-six weeks along now, the past couple of months having gone by in a whirlwind.

 _Only a little over three months to go to go_ , Stiles thinks, feeling kind of proud of himself when the thought doesn’t make him feel numb with panic but warm with excitement.

Truth be told, the baby’s existence is still the biggest plot-twist of Stiles’ entire life, but she’s also the best surprise in the world, not even born yet already bringing joy to the entire pack.

His little girl, who is, indeed, a little girl, which Stiles knows for a fact thanks to a slightly nerve-wrecking and very emotional ultrasound appointment at the end of June.

“Told you,” Derek grins at him as they leave the vet clinic with matching dumb smiles and Stiles obviously has to kiss him until his knees feel like marshmallows.

“She’s going to love you so much,” Derek tells him the first time Stiles brings home an adorable little jumper that says _Daddy’s Little Princess_ , his cheeks and ears blushing red as Lydia clucks her tongue and mutters something about gender stereotypes and letting children express themselves.

Stiles certainly hopes that his daughter his going to love him, though he’s pretty sure there’s no way she’s going to love him even half as much as he already loves her, reasonably certain that he’d throw himself in front of a dragon for her without ever having seen her little face.

“Or you could maybe massage my belly a little to calm her down, because getting a foot stuck in your ribs is twice the fun when you’ve already got heartburn and spent the entire evening burping like _you’re_ the fire-breathing dragon,” Derek grumbles, wincing a little as he massages the top of his belly.

He’s lying on their bed, wearing only a pair of boxers and a thin sleeping shirt that’s stretched tight over his stomach and Stiles doesn’t have to be asked twice, tapping against Derek’s legs so he can kneel in between them.

Derek leans his head back and closes his eyes and Stiles pulls up his shirt and gently massages the taut skin, using an herbal oil that Deaton gave them a couple of weeks earlier.

The baby calms down after a while, but Derek doesn’t seem like he wants Stiles to stop, looking relaxed and happy and seconds away from falling asleep.

He’s beautiful.

Radiant.

Stiles’ movements get a little slower, a little more sensual, his heartbeat picking up as he imagines what it would feel like to be with Derek like this.

Derek hums and Stiles’ hands get a little bolder, exploring Derek’s belly in a way he hasn’t quite dared before.

He’s not sure if it’s Derek’s pregnant belly or his everything, really, but Stiles just wants to make him feel good, reward him for all the heartburn, the backaches, and the little feet stuck in his ribs or playing drumroll with his bladder.

“I love you,” he whispers, his hands slowly drifting lower as his gaze never leaves Derek’s face, needing to make sure he’s allowed.

Derek doesn’t stop him.

Stiles lets out a little gasp, his dick slowly filling between his legs at the sight of Derek spread out in front of him.

He can’t help himself.

The moment his lips touch Derek’s belly, the werewolf’s entire body seizes up.

Stiles jerks back and Derek’s smiling at him apologetically, tugging his shirt back down his belly and muttering “Braxton Hicks. Sorry. They’ll go away if I move around a little.”

Stiles feels numb as he gets up so Derek can swing his legs over the side of the bed, his dick limp between his legs as Derek presses a quick kiss to his forehead and then hurriedly waddles out of the room.

Away from Stiles.

 _Fleeing_ from Stiles.

It’s not fine.

 _No_ , Stiles thinks, biting his lip and looking up at the ceiling, his stomach clenching with nausea as guilt, frustration, and helplessness wash over him.

It’s not fine at all.

============

The first time their baby-girl kicks during a pack meeting, Erica lets out a squeal and nuzzles Derek’s stomach like she’s an overgrown were-cat.

Derek’s laugh is free and easy, his eyes sparkling with amusement when he curls his fingers through her blonde hair.

He doesn’t flinch.

A week later, Derek gets a craving for chocolate pudding in the middle of pack movie night at Isaac’s place and ends up raiding his curly-haired former Beta’s fridge.

When he returns with chocolate in the corners of his mouth and a guilty little smile, Isaac shrugs and rubs one large palm over the mound of Derek’s stomach, telling the baby she’s got exceptional taste.

Derek doesn’t flinch.

Boyd absentmindedly pats Derek’s stomach after a pack training, passing by him on his way to the cooler.

Derek doesn’t flinch.

“I bought you some new clothes,” Lydia announces at the end of July, raising a judgmental eyebrow at Derek when the now twenty-eight weeks pregnant werewolf tries to tug down the short-sleeved Henley that’s threatening to burst at the seams.

“Much better!” Lydia decides after Derek has changed into a bigger size, cradling his bump in her delicate hands and nodding appreciatively.

Derek doesn’t flinch.

“Hello baby! I’m your beloved Uncle Scotty! I’m your Alpha!” Scott all but yells at Derek’s belly, his lips practically smushed against Derek’s shirt.

Derek scrunches up his face at the volume.

He doesn’t flinch.

The first time John clears his throat and hesitantly asks if he can feel the baby, Derek immediately presses John’s hand against his belly.

“You’re her family. Her _pack_. You never have to ask!” Derek says, his voice cracking a little and his eyes getting a little wet.

“I wish your mother was here to see this!” John tells Stiles, letting out a joyful laugh when the little one kicks right against his hand.

“I know,” Stiles says quietly, trying very hard to ignore that Derek didn’t flinch.

“Are you sure it’s not twins?” Jackson asks with raised eyebrow, clearly taken aback when he returns from London for a surprise visit and unexpectedly comes face to face with seven-months-pregnant Derek in his underwear, his bare belly on full display and still wet because he’s just stepped out of the shower.

“Screw you,” Derek replies drily, chuckling to himself as he towels his hair dry.

“Seriously though!” Jackson exclaims, his hands twitching at his sides as he eyes Derek’s belly like it’s a ticking bomb.

Derek rolls his eyes and grabs Jackson’s hand, giving him a sassy little smirk as he places it right over where the baby is currently competing in the summersault Olympics.

Jackson’s expression morphs from stunned to amazed in an instant and he presses his other hand against Derek’s naked belly as well, cooing and awwwing and making a complete spectacle of himself like he’s forgotten he’s cool and owns a Porsche.

Derek rolls his eyes again, winking at Stiles over Jackson’s shoulder.

He doesn’t flinch.

Standing in the kitchen, Stiles watches with widening eyes and a sinking heart.

“My stomach’s all crooked today. Is that normal?”

Derek pulls up his shirt after their weekly dinner with Melissa and John, looking at his quasi-mother-in-law with a curious frown.

“She likes to hang out on your left side, doesn’t she?”

Melissa chuckles, gently rubbing up and down Derek’s indeed crooked stomach.

“It’s perfectly normal. Our little princess is doing just fine.”

Derek smiles, leaning back against the sofa as Melissa’s skilled hands roam over his belly, half-massage and half-examination.

He looks soft.

Relaxed.

Pampered.

Happy.

He doesn’t flinch.

He never does, not from John, not from Melissa, not from Erica, Boyd, or Isaac, not from Scott and Lydia and not even from fucking Jackson, who is obviously the most baby-crazy of them all and can barely keep his greedy lizard paws from Derek’s belly during his entire visit.

Derek doesn’t flinch from any of them.

He only jerks away from Stiles.

Stiles spends a couple of sleepless nights trying to figure out what it could mean.

When it finally comes to him, he wishes he’d never noticed it at all.

=================

“You don’t trust me!”

He doesn’t mean to blurt it out like that.

Doesn’t mean for the hurt in his heart to make his tongue sharp like acid and his tone cold like ice.

He doesn’t mean to attack Derek with it, doesn’t mean for the words to slice through the air like knives seeking to impale their target.

It’s a hot summer afternoon in early August and Derek has spent the better part of the day running around the loft in only a pair of boxers, his breathing a little heavier than normal because of the combination of humid air seeping through cracks in the brick wall and the three pounds of baby pushing up against his lungs.

There’s sweat rolling down his nose even now, the air conditioner having long surrendered to the brutal heat outside.

He looks miserable and very pregnant and also incredibly defensive and a part of Stiles really doesn’t want to do this to him right now, but he also can’t keep in his hurt any longer.

It had just been a small pat.

Derek had been standing in front of the open fridge for the tenth time that afternoon, muttering about the ridiculous temperatures and trying to cool down his overheated bump.

Stiles had leaned past him to get a Dr Pepper out of the fridge, giving Derek’s stomach a soothing little pat.

Derek had flinched.

And Stiles … had snapped.

“You don’t trust me!”

The words hurt just as much as the first time, but Stiles knows they have to be said, his worst fears confirmed when Derek won’t quite meet his eyes as he answers.

“I … what are you talking about? Everything’s fine!”

“Are you _fucking kidding me right now_?”

Stiles doesn’t mean to yell.

Truly.

He doesn’t.

“No, Derek! Everything is _not_ fucking _fine_! You keep saying it is, but it obviously _isn’t_ and either you think I’m stupid or you don’t give a damn, but things are _not_ fine, and you know it!”

“What? What the hell are you even talking about it?”

Derek’s staring at him like he’s gone crazy and it pisses Stiles off even more.

It’s bad enough that Derek doesn’t trust him.

He doesn’t need to treat him like a fool, too.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!”

“No! No, I fucking don’t!” Derek snaps, looking more exasperated than Stiles has seen him in a very long time.

 _Not like this_ , the voice inside his head urges, but Stiles soldiers on, figures there’s no use in going back now that he’s finally said out loud what has been eating at him for months.

“Can you … can you stop taking me for a fool? Please? Just … just be honest, okay?”

“About _what_?” Derek growls, slamming a hand down on the kitchen countertop in obvious frustration.

Stiles tugs at his hair angrily, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“Why don’t you trust me with the baby?”

“ _What_?”

Derek looks genuinely shocked, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping open.

From one second to the other, all the fight goes out of Stiles, his heart twisting with hurt that Derek’s still denying it.

“Derek. Please. I know, okay? I fucking know, I just … why? What am I doing so damn wrong that you feel like I’m not … like I can’t be … why do you think I’m going to be a shitty father?”

“Stiles!” Derek exclaims, his shocked expression morphing into one of horror in an instant.

“Stiles, what are you _saying_? Why the hell would you even think that? I never said _anything_ like that! I don’t think like that at all! You’re going to be an amazing father! Why would you … Stiles?”

“You keep _saying_ that!” Stiles hisses, pressing his fists against his eyes to gather himself.

“You keep saying that, but your body is saying something different altogether!”

“My … what are you talking about? Stiles, please, I don’t know what brought this on but …”

“Of course you know,” Stiles says tiredly, looking at Derek’s belly with a raised eyebrow.

Derek follows his gaze, looks down at where he’s been clutching his stomach with both hands for the past couple of minutes.

“Do you even realize that you flinch like I’m about to strike you _almost_ _every damn time I touch your belly_?”

Stiles exhales softly, shaking his head with a bitter laugh.

“You did it when I touched your stomach for the first time after you told me about the baby, and you’ve been doing it ever since! I asked you if I should stop so many times and you keep telling me no, but I don’t believe you anymore. I want to believe you so badly, but I just can’t, anymore! You keep telling me it’s fine and you even encourage me to touch you, but you’re not … “

He runs his hands over his face, feeling incredibly tired.

“You’re not enjoying it, Derek. I tried to ignore it, at first, because you kept saying everything was _fine,_ but even when you grab my hand and press it against your stomach you’re never really relaxed. You pretend you are, but your eyes are like … it’s like your eyes are screaming at me to _go away_ and it doesn’t fucking make sense because you keep inviting me in! And then there’s the damn _flinching_!”

Derek’s eyes are impossibly wide, his skin pale even though there’s sweat running down his forehead and glistening all over his belly.

When he notices Stiles staring at his stomach again, he jerks his hands away, his knuckles turning white when he grips the countertop.

Stiles lets out another laugh, his throat feeling scratchy like the sound literally clawed itself out of him.

“You keep telling me that bonding is important for the baby. You keep telling me stories of your family and how affectionate the pack was every time a member was expecting. You make it sound like it’s absolutely necessary for our daughter’s development that I touch your belly as often as possible, but when I do it because you ask me to, you look like you’re ready to bolt! Even worse, when I do it unprompted, you flinch from me like I …!”

He breaks off with a heavy sigh, his chest brimming with hurt when Derek just keeps staring at him.

“You’re not ticklish, Derek. I’ve also seen you have Braxton Hicks contractions enough times by now to be able to tell when you’re faking. I know you know what I’m talking about. I’ve brought it up multiple times, but you’ve always told me it was fine and had some excuse for why it’s completely fucking normal to flinch from the father of your child like he’s just attacked you with a knife!”

“Stiles … I …”

Derek’s mouth opens and closes, and Stiles waits for him to continue, the silence growing thick and heavy between them in the stuffy air.

Derek swallows heavily.

He doesn’t say a word.

Stiles sighs again.

“The thing is, it wouldn’t even be a thing if you did it with everyone. If you did it with everyone, it would mean you truly _are_ uncomfortable with people touching your belly. Hell, we could have figured out another way for the pack to bond with the baby a long time ago if that had been the case! You’re fine with them, though. Last week, Erica poked your belly for like an hour to play with the baby and you never got annoyed even once! You don’t have a problem with anyone touching your belly. You just have a problem when _I_ do.”

Stiles looks down, his eyes brimming with tears and his chest heavy with the weight of what he’s about to say.

“Don’t you see there’s only one explanation, Derek? You aren’t fine with me touching your belly because you don’t _trust_ me with your belly. Because you don’t trust me around the _baby_! Because you think I’m going to be a shitty father and because … because you regret having a baby with me in the first place!”

“No! No, that’s not … Stiles, don’t _say that,_ that’s not true that’s …. no!”

“I’m not saying you don’t love the baby,” Stiles continues, still refusing to look up even though the anguish in Derek’s voice is making his stomach feel colder than ever.

“You love her. It’s clear from space that you love her. I’m just not … I’m not the father you would have wanted for her. If you’d had a choice in the matter you wouldn’t have … if we’d known it was possible … if you’d known you could have had this with someone who’s … someone who’s _better_ than me, then maybe you would have …”

He breaks off, the words feeling like they’re chocking him.

Derek’s still staring at him, looking pale and horrified.

He doesn’t say anything though.

It’s all the confirmation Stiles needs.

“I don’t know what I did wrong. I can’t be better if you don’t tell me what you need from me. But I can’t be around you when you’re … this is all really fucking terrifying for me, too, Derek!”

He straightens up, his voice rising when the misery gives way to anger once more.

“I _know_ I’m young! I _know_ I still don’t have a full-time job! I _know_ I’m a sarcastic, flawed, hyperactive little shit who can be overwhelming to be around! But I promise you, Derek, I’m going to try to be the best damn father to our daughter that I can possible be! I love her! I love _you_! But this isn’t fair, Derek! This isn’t fucking _fair_!”

Derek keeps staring at him.

His throat moves, but no sounds come out.

Stiles closes his eyes.

“I going to stay at my dad’s for a while. If you figure out what I can do better to be enough for you and the baby, come and tell me.”

Derek looks down.

He doesn’t stop him.

It’s over a hundred degrees outside, but as he drives back to his father’s house, Stiles is pretty sure he’s never going to feel warm again.

==============

Stiles is curled up on his father’s couch and trying not to succumb to panic attack number three in as many hours when Derek rings the doorbell.

He hears his father mutter in the hallway, his sharp tone quickly giving way to something that Stiles’ exhausted and anguished mind can’t parse out.

A moment later, a heavy hand lands on his shoulder and his father looks at him with a grim expression, his eyes worried and sad.

“Listen to him, son,” he says, squeezing his shoulder before stepping away and revealing Derek hovering in the door behind him.

He still looks pale, his eyes red-rimmed like he’s been crying since Stiles stumbled out of the loft a little over three hours ago.

Stiles himself can barely keep his eyes open because they’re hurting so much at this point, so he figures they match, at least.

“Can I … can I sit with you?”

Derek’s voice is hoarse, almost as if he’s been screaming.

It startles Stiles out of his stupor a little, because it doesn’t really make sense for _Derek_ to be the one to look so hurt.

No.

Not hurt.

 _Gutted_.

Yes.

Derek looks like Stiles went and completely eviscerated him and Stiles’ stomach twists unhappily even though he has no idea how any of this makes sense.

“I trust you.”

Derek doesn’t break eye-contact, his gaze sad and also a bit desperate.

“I trust you. I’ve _always_ trusted you. If I didn’t trust you, we wouldn’t be in this position in the first place.”

He runs a hand over his stomach with a paper-thin laugh, resting his palm over the center and letting out a miserable sigh. 

“I trust you, Stiles. I’m grateful every day that I get to have this baby with _you_ and the fact that I made you feel otherwise is … I’m sorry, Stiles. I thought I could … I was an idiot. This is all my fault and I’m so damn sorry I made you feel this way!”

“You thought you could what?”

Stiles wraps his arms around his chest, a heavy feeling in the bottom of his stomach when Derek lets out a defeated sigh.

“I want you to touch my belly. God! You have no idea how much I want you to kiss my belly and talk to the baby! I can pick up on her chem signals, you know. They’re still a little hazy, but every time you talk to her, she just feels so … _content_. Stiles, if you’d just known how _happy_ she felt when you were massaging my belly that one night, you would have never even thought that …”

He lets out choked sound, his eyes brimming with tears as he continues.

“I want her to feel like that all the time! I want her to know how loved she is! I want _you_ to know how much the both of us love you! But I keep fucking it up and I’m trying, I’m trying so _damn hard Stiles, I swear, I …_ ”

“Hey, hey!” Stiles exclaims, feeling shocked and helpless when Derek bends over, hides his face in his hands, and starts shaking, letting out whimpers that aren’t quite sobs but that still cut through Stiles’ heart like a knife.

“Derek! Derek, I’m sorry, I …”

“No! You don’t have anything to be sorry for! _I’m_ sorry, Stiles! I want you to have those experiences and I … damn it … Stiles, I want to have them, too! I want you to kiss my belly and I want to enjoy all of it but she just … she won’t let me! Stiles! _She won’t let me_!”

He’s sobbing now, and Stiles doesn’t think, just wraps his arms around his shoulders and holds him as the words keep replaying in his head.

_She won’t let me._

_She won’t._

_She._

**_She_ ** _._

No.

God.

 _No_!

“Derek,” Stiles whispers, and Derek presses his face into the crook of his neck, his tears hot on his skin and making Stiles’ heart break all over for him.

“I love you.”

Stiles says it over and over, murmuring it against Derek’s hair as he holds him through the heartache he’s clearly struggled to keep at bay for months.

Eventually, Derek takes a shuddery breath, his voice sounding rougher than ever as he continues.

“She was _obsessed_ with my belly! She was always touching it, licking it, _kissing it,_ and I ... I thought it was because I had abs! I was stupid though. I was _so fucking stupid_ , Stiles! She didn’t care about my damn abs at all! She wanted …”

Derek straightens, leaning back and looking at Stiles helplessly as he pulls up his shirt, exposing his swollen stomach and cradling it with both hands.

“She was obsessed with my stomach because it reminded her that I had a weakness. It turned her on because it reminded her of what she was working towards. An animal’s stomach is its weakest part and when I showed mine to her … when I let her touch it … when I let her _kiss_ it … it showed her that I _trusted_ her. I rolled over and showed her my belly and she went and used my trust to _kill my entire fa-fa-family_!”

He shivers, more tears rolling down his exhausted face, and Stiles _aches_ for him, desperate to make it better even though he knows that nothing ever will.

“Derek! Derek, I’m so sorry, I didn‘t know, I …”

“How were you supposed to know?”

Derek’s voice is bitter, filled with an alarming amount of self-hatred as he tugs his shirt back down.

“You couldn’t have known, because I never fucking said anything about it!”

“But I … when we first got together and barely left the bed, I must have …”

“I didn’t really let you near my stomach even then, Stiles,” Derek says softly, shaking his head with a heavy sigh.

“I’d roll over when I wanted you to fuck me. I’d push on your head when you were lingering on my belly, telling you I needed to feel your mouth on me. I’d hold down your hands when I was riding you and I’d hold them above your head when I was the one doing the fucking.”

He shrugs, nodding when Stiles lets out a gasp of realization.

“You didn’t notice anything, and I didn’t want you to. If things hadn’t been so … if things hadn’t been so frenzied back then, maybe you would have … I know you would have picked up on it eventually, but I thought I had more time to … but then I went and got fucking _pregnant_ and suddenly my stomach was the only thing on everyone’s mind!”

Derek wipes at his eyes, not looking at Stiles when he continues.

“The first time you touched my belly and I flinched I was so _angry_ with myself. I always thought it was just a sex thing because … she … Kate was never affectionate with me in public or outside the bedroom, it was only ever about sex! It never occurred to me that I’d have an issue with you touching my stomach in general.”

He tugs at his hair, looking angry and frustrated.

“I don’t _want_ to have an issue with you touching my stomach, period! I’m a damn werewolf, Stiles! Belly rubs from my mate are supposed to soothe me! Remind me that there’s no one else in the world I can trust more! She took that from me! It’s one of our most basic instincts and she went and _fucked it all up_! And I keep letting her! Twelve years and I still keep _letting her_!”

“It’s not your fault, Derek! None of it is!”

“But it _is!_ It’s been twelve years and instead of fucking dealing with my problems I’ve been pretending that everything’s fine when it clearly isn’t! I’m broken, Stiles! I’m fucking broken and now we’re going to have a _baby_! She’s going to need me to keep my shit together, but I can’t even handle the love of my life kissing my belly without feeling like … fuck!”

“You’re not broken, Derek,” Stiles says firmly, grasping his hand and squeezing it as tightly as he can.

“You’re a sexual abuse survivor! Every day you get up is a testament to the fact that she _didn’t_ manage to break you! She hurt you. Maybe she even damaged you forever. But she didn’t break you. If she’d broken you, you would no longer be here.”

He kisses Derek’s knuckles, then presses their joint hands against his forehead to gather himself.

“I’m sorry, Derek. For everything. I shouldn’t have rushed you into this. I should have remembered, I … I’d been in love with you for so long, it wouldn’t have killed me to wait a little longer.”

Derek chuckles weakly, pulling their hands down so Stiles can look at him.

“I felt safe with you. For the first time since … I’ve never felt like that with anyone. I didn’t know it could feel like that and I wanted it, too, Stiles. I wanted to make up for all the time I wasted, and I guess … you didn’t do anything wrong!”

He nods to himself, looking at Stiles determinedly.

“I should have talked to you that first night. I should have sat you down and told you that I want to kiss you for the rest of my life, but that I’m also a little fucked up about sex because I lost my virginity to a monster who killed my family! I was too scared though. I’d waited for that moment for so long and I didn’t want to freak you out by making it all complicated, so I just … hoped it would sort itself out.”

He laughs bitterly, rubbing a hand across his belly with a sad smile.

“I guess it was pretty stupid of me to think that PTSD is just going to sort itself out.”

“What about …” Stiles bites his lip, not sure if it’s the right time to ask but needing the answer all the same.

“What about the rest of the pack?”

It takes a long moment until Derek replies.

“They don’t … they don’t _want_ me when they touch me. Kate only ever touched me in a sexual way, but there’s nothing sexual about the pack touching me. There’s nothing but warmth and affection in their scent when they touch my belly and it doesn’t … it doesn’t trigger me. It feels safe.”

“But it doesn’t feel safe with me?” Stiles asks hollowly, though it’s not like he needs the confirmation.

“It _does_!” Derek says vehemently, grabbing Stiles’ hand again and squeezing it so tightly it almost hurts.

“I love you! I _trust_ you! I feel completely safe with you! It doesn’t bother me that you smell like want whenever you’re around me. Hell, I want you, too, more than you probably know! I just can’t … I just can’t stand anyone touching my belly when they smell like that.”

“But I … I don’t ever think about sex when I talk to the baby!” Stiles says, a little shocked and also feeling like he’s the biggest pervert on the planet.

Derek grimaces.

“I _know that_ , Stiles! You don’t always smell like lust, but you always smell like want. There’s supposed to be a difference between lust and want, but when it comes to my belly it’s like that difference just doesn’t fucking matter!”

They’re silent for a while and Stiles is thinking furiously, feeling relieved, and heartbroken, and so very fucking angry at Kate Argent he almost regrets not having gotten to kill her himself.

“I guess that explains why I haven’t been in the mood for sex either,” Derek continues eventually, looking miserable and apologetic.

“Not that I haven’t been _physically_ in the mood. Actually, my hormones are all over the damn place all the time and I want you so much it hurts some days, but I just … my belly’s just so big and so _present_ and how was I supposed to keep you from noticing that I don’t want you touching it without having to explain it?”

“Jesus, Derek, you don’t ever have to apologize for not being in the mood,” Stiles groans, raising an eyebrow at his boyfriend that he hopes conveys his feelings on the matter adequately.

“And just so you know, you wouldn’t have needed to explain it, either. Consent doesn’t come with an essay portion, it’s just yes or no, nothing more, nothing less. If you’d just been … I would have accepted your no, Derek. What hurt me was that you kept telling me yes when it so obviously wasn’t true.”

“I know,” Derek sighs, and Stiles kisses his hand again, not quite sure what else to do.

“I made a therapy appointment before I got here,” Derek says suddenly, smiling hesitantly when Stiles’ head whips towards him.

“I’m tired of letting her destroy my family. I can’t promise you anything, but I’m going to try and …”

“Derek!” Stiles gasps, reaching for his face to pull him into a kiss, feeling like he’s going to combust with emotion without the anchoring press of Derek’s lips on his.

“You can take as much time as you need! I love you. I love you so much and I’m so fucking proud of you!”

Derek smiles again, looking looser and more relaxed than Stiles has seen him in a very long time.

“I just hope it’s not too late. We only have eleven weeks left, maybe I can …”

“As much time as you need!” Stiles says firmly, stroking his thumb over Derek’s cheekbones.

“It’s your body, Derek. Yours. You might be carrying our daughter right now, but it’s still _your_ body. If you want me to touch it, I will. If you don’t want me to touch it, I won’t. You don’t owe me your body, Derek. As long as I know you don’t regret having a baby with me … as long as I know you trust me … I’ll wait for as long as it takes. And if I don’t touch your belly again before she’s born then that’s not a problem, either. The only thing I care about is that the two of you are happy and healthy. Nothing else!”

“But I …”

“I love you,” Stiles says again, pulling Derek in for another gentle kiss.

Derek sighs against him, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Stiles’.

Trusting him.

It’s everything Stiles needs.

================

They talk a lot.

They figure some things out and come to terms with others.

The Betas put the finishing touches on the house and Stiles joins them more often than not, especially when Derek has an appointment with his therapist, a little fae woman from Santa Fe who astral projects into the loft during their sessions.

They move into the house during the first week of September and Stiles swears up and down there’s something in his eye when he sees the finished nursery for the first time, his heart swelling with love as he imagines Derek rocking their baby in the old arm-chair that used to belong to Stiles’ mother.

He doesn’t expect it at all when Derek turns on his side during the first night in the new house and looks over his shoulder with a questioning smile, his eyes warm and full of love and want.

They’re slow with each other.

Careful.

Reassuring.

Their hands are clasped over Derek’s chest as Stiles gently rocks into him, the feeling of them coming together again almost overwhelming after so long.

Derek’s thirty-four weeks along, his belly round and heavy and his body no longer as flexible as it was.

It’s the best sex Stiles has ever had, though, and when Derek turns to kiss him after, the look on his face tells Stiles that they’re finally on the same page again.

The weeks keep flying by, their days spent bickering, teasing, and laughing, almost like nothing ever happened in the first place.

They leave room for the silences, though, now that Derek knows he can ask for them and Stiles knows to give them to him.

The hurt isn’t gone, of course.

Stiles keeps seeing glimpses of it when Derek strokes his belly and sighs, his hands twitching like he wants to reach out for Stiles but knows he can’t handle it.

He’d be liar if he said he wasn’t heartbroken about it, of course.

He doesn’t know if they’re going to do this again, fully aware that this might be the only pregnancy experience he’s going to have.

Yeah.

He’s really fucking sad about it.

They’re _both_ sad about it, but Stiles also knows that Derek deserves healing a hell of a lot more than Stiles deserves an all access pass to a body that isn’t his own.

They’re going to be okay.

Besides, there are far more happy things to focus on.

For instance, their daughter’s name, which they agree upon in the early morning hours of a warm September night, whispering it to each other under the full moon and marveling at how right it feels. 

At the end of September, Derek’s thirty-eight weeks along and incredibly grumpy about it, one hand always pressed against his back and the other supporting his belly’s weight as he waddles through the house restlessly, torn between fretting that there’s so much more they need to get done and wanting her to come out already.

Stiles can’t stop staring at him, mostly mesmerized but also still terrified because their lives are going to change forever in a ridiculously short amount of time.

Things aren’t perfect.

They never truly were and probably never will be.

Things are starting to be fine, however.

As far as Stiles is concerned, that’s a pretty damn good start.

====================

The baby’s due date is on October 8th.

Derek is not best pleased when he’s still very much pregnant on the morning of October 9th.

They take a slow walk in the preserves, they order spicy take-out, they even have some glacially slow and careful sex.

Derek looks moderately cheered after.

The baby isn’t fazed at all.

October 10th passes by in much the same manner and when Derek turns to Stiles on the morning of October 11th, he gives him such an epic bitch-face that Stiles really isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

It’s a nice fall day, the leaves slowly changing color but the temperatures still warm enough to go outside without a jacket.

They take another long walk, their hands clasped in comfortable silence as they walk the paths their baby will explore on her own one day.

Derek takes a long nap after they get back and Stiles settles down in the living room, one ear trained upstairs so he can rush to Derek’s aid at the first sound of distress.

He’s reading the same paragraph of _The Stand_ for the twentieth time in a row when Derek shuffles back downstairs, his hair a little mussed and wearing only his sleeping pants.

“Baby time?” Stiles asks and Derek shakes his head, letting out a soft little yawn.

“Do you want me to get you something? A cookie? Or maybe a foot rub.”

“I’m good,” Derek says softly, looking at Stiles with a gentle smile.

Stiles smiles back, trying to commit the sight of him to memory.

The warm afternoon sun is shining through the window, bathing Derek’s bare skin in an auburn glow that makes his hazel eyes pop and his dark hair shine.

He looks ethereal, almost, the softness in his eyes and smile belying all the worries and hurt that have brought them to this point.

There’s no trace of the irritated, growling wolf Stiles has been walking on eggshells around for the past three days.

More importantly, there’s no trace of the hurt inside him, the hurt that Stiles knows full well might never heal completely and that will always be a part of him, a part of his story he won’t be able to erase no matter how hard he tries, just like the death of Stiles’ mother is a hurt he’ll carry until the day he dies.

Stiles doesn't see it now, though.

Instead, Derek looks … peaceful.

The sight is enough to take Stiles’ breath away.

Stiles has known Derek for almost eight years now, has seen him haunted, angry, driven, in pain, frustrated, insulted, bitter, and sad

He’s also seen him look amused, grateful, relaxed, genuinely happy, and in love.

He’s never seen him at peace though and now that he knows what it’s like, he’s committed to making sure he can see that look again and again for as long as he lives.

He doesn’t know what his face is doing but Derek lets out a soft laugh, waddling over to him until their toes are almost touching.

“Spread your legs.”

His voice is a bit husky, but his smile is still peaceful, widening when Stiles frowns at him but does as he’s been asked.

Derek takes a slow step and then another, until he’s standing in the v of Stiles’ legs, his swollen belly gently bumping against the book that Stiles has propped up against his stomach.

Derek takes the book and drops it onto the cushion, never breaking eye-contact with him as he grasps Stiles’ hands and gingerly places them against his sides.

Stiles looks up at him with wide eyes, not sure what’s happening and not daring to move as Derek takes a couple of steadying breaths, his hands trembling just a little where they’re covering Stiles’ own.

Then, he cups Stiles’ cheeks, his thumb gently trailing across Stiles’ lower lip.

“You know,” he says after a long moment, his voice very quiet but determined.

“No one’s ever laid their head against my belly just to rest. I think … I think I’d like you to be the first.”

Stiles lets out a tiny gasp, blinking up at Derek with a lump forming in his throat.

“Yeah?” he croaks, pressing his lips together tightly to show Derek that he understands the rules.

Derek’s smile widens, his chest hitching with a shaky breath.

Then, he gently guides Stiles’ head towards his stomach, nudging him to look to the side so Stiles’ cheek can rest against his warm skin.

There’s a soft thump from the inside and Stiles gasps, his chest feeling warm with happiness and wonder that he gets to experience this one last time.

“We love you,” Derek whispers above him, gently carding one hand through Stiles’ hair while cupping his cheek with the other.

_I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know._

Stiles wants to say so many things, but he can’t quite swallow around the lump in his throat, his eyes burning as it hits him just what Derek is giving him right now.

How hard he must have worked to find a way to give this to him.

It might be true that Derek will never know just how much Stiles loves him.

Sitting in the peaceful silence of their sun-kissed living room, with his head resting against Derek’s belly and their daughter gently moving under his mate’s skin, Stiles realizes that he, too, has only begun to scratch the surface of how deeply Derek loves him.

====================

Emma Leigh Hale is born in the early morning hours of October 12th.

Stiles catches his first glimpse of her over Derek’s shoulder, his arms hooked under Derek’s armpits and holding him upright as he encourages him to gather strength for that one, final push.

Derek’s back is pressed against Stiles stomach, his head thrown back and resting on Stiles’ shoulders as he tries to catch his breath.

“I love you,” Stiles tells him, kissing his sweat-soaked temple and tightening his grip on him, holding him and anchoring him and keeping his head above the sea of pain that’s been trying to pull him under ever since his labor began a little over nine hours ago.

They’ve been in this position before, Stiles suddenly realizes, remembering it clear as day even though it seems like a lifetime ago.

Derek hadn’t trusted him to keep his head above the water then.

This time, he knows that Stiles is never going to let him drown.

Derek’s head tips forward, his whole body tensing as he lets out an earth-shattering sound that begins as an anguished scream and ends as a triumphant roar. 

Then, she’s there, tiny, wrinkly, covered in gunk, and howling like the werewolf she so clearly is, her eyes barely open yet flashing Beta gold when Melissa places her on Derek’s chest and both fathers cradle her little bum and head.

She sleeps through her first sunrise, safely cradled in her Papa’s arms and her tiny fist firmly clasped around her Daddy’s pinkie.

Derek’s head is resting against Stiles’ shoulder, that peaceful expression back on his face that Stiles wants to see for the rest of his life.

There’s a lot of work still ahead of them, a lot of tears yet to be shed and twice as much happiness yet to be shared.

 _We’re going to make a good life_ , Stiles thinks, a promise to himself, to Derek, and to their daughter.

It’s not an empty promise, either.

After all, they’re off to a pretty damn good start.

**Author's Note:**

> Emma means "whole" and Leigh is a Celtic word for "healer". I thought it was fitting. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are, as always, very much appreciated! 
> 
> Stay safe and healthy my lovelies!


End file.
